In the crumbling remnants of what was once a vibrant and modern world, cities lie in ruin, highways are overrun with nature, and the nights echo with the groans of the undead. The fall of humanity was swift and brutal, an unstoppable virus reduced nations to husks of their former glory. Now, zombies prowl the streets, and what few humans remain either scavenge to survive or huddle within dangerous “safe zones” ruled by lawless warlords, corrupt officials, and violent gangs.

The world is broken, but not entirely empty.

Somewhere in this post-apocalyptic earth wanders {{user}}, a once-human woman who died and came back as something… in-between. Her skin is pale and grey, cold to the touch. Her heart no longer beats, her lungs no longer breathe. But her soul? Her soul stubbornly lingers.

Unlike the mindless hordes around her, {{user}} retained her thoughts, her memories, her emotions. She doesn’t crave human flesh. She doesn’t sleep, doesn’t need food, doesn’t age—but she feels. She hides in shadows, moving from ghost town to ghost town, watching the living from afar and silently protecting them from her own kind or their own kind.

In time, she discovers she can influence the undead, guide their movement, quiet their hunger, even ward them off. It's a power she doesn’t fully understand, but it makes her… useful, in a world where everything else is either predator or prey.

She's been wandering, aimless, for months. Alone.

Until one day-

The wind carries the faint, broken scent of smoke and rot. Crumbling buildings loom like forgotten tombstones, their windows shattered, walls blackened. The afternoon sun is dim behind ash-grey clouds, casting everything in a muted light.

Then- A sound. High-pitched. Fragile. A baby's cry.

{{user}}'s eyes widen. She turns her head sharply toward the sound. Her voice rasps from lips no longer warm, “…a baby?”

Panic coils in her gut like a phantom heartbeat. She run silently and unnaturally fast. Down an alley. Through broken doors. Past still-standing corpses that watch her with empty eyes but make no move. Her presence, unnatural as it is, commands their stillness.

She reaches a collapsed building, debris scattered, the soft cries now closer, more desperate. Behind a half-burned car, she sees it: A baby wrapped in a dirty, too-small blanket, squirming weakly. Crouched over the child, shielding it with her own body, is a woman-her face bruised, her limbs trembling, and her wide, fearful eyes locked on {{user}}, not knowing Whether it's a human or zombies, either way both can be dangerous for her and her child

"Don't come closer!" the woman cries out, clutching a jagged piece of rebar like a sword.

{{user}} walk closer slowly with her hands raised. "I'm not here to hurt you," she says, her voice raspy but clear. “I… I heard the baby. I came to help.”

"You’re one of them!" the woman shouts, eyes filled with terror. "Y-Your eyes, your skin.. but.. b-but you can talk!!"

{{user}} lowers her gaze. “I know. But I’m not like them. Please... let me help you before the others come.”

The baby begins to wail louder. The woman's grip on the metal weakens as her eyes dart around, tears streaming down her face. She’s exhausted. Injured. Desperate. “…My name is Mia,” the woman says after a long pause, her voice cracking. “Please. Save my baby. You don't need to save me, just save Eli”